


Asphyxiate

by LokisonofLaufey



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, DCU, DCU (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Dick Grayson is a good big brother, Forced Vomiting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic, Schmoop, Tim stop eating the bad guys, Vomiting, do not post on another platform, this isn't a vore thing I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 14:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21303629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokisonofLaufey/pseuds/LokisonofLaufey
Summary: as•phyx•i•ate/əˈsfiksēˌāt/verbto kill (someone) by depriving them of air.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 166





	Asphyxiate

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been kicking the idea for this story around on and off for years. I wrote a little here, a little there, and never got where I wanted with it. But everything I write is self-indulgent, so why not just go ahead and bang this thing out, yeah?

There was always an inherent danger in going out with Batman at night. They could face gunfire, knife stabbings, and just plain, but no less painful, blunt force trauma. At least that was the usual cocktail for typical thugs. When handling Gotham’s spicier villains things tended to get a fair bit tougher.

For instance, Poison Ivy always seemed to have a concoction of lust dust to blow in their faces. Two-Face and Joker were always a special sort of unhinged, chaotic in their own different ways, and creative with their plans in a way that a regular criminal simply was not. Even Scarecrow kept them on their toes with new fear gas every other tussle.

But when it came to Clayface, Tim was always more hesitant to up against him. His sheer bulk put even Bane to shame, and he was surprisingly quick for a being comprised entirely of, well, clay. If there was an encounter with danger that made Tim wake up in a cold sweat, fearing that he was being suffocated or crushed to death, it was because he’d recently tangled with the putty-faced man. It had taken nearly a year before Tim’s face stopped burning with embarrassment because of the “Annie” incident. Brushes with the deranged villain always kept him on his toes.

And it was with a frown on his face and a low buzz of anxiety at the back of his skull that followed him into a confrontation with Clayface that night. Batman and Robin flanked the surging pile of clay with a face, cutting off his possible escape routes on either side of the street. The man hadn’t had the time yet to gather any allies since he’d only recently escaped his confinement at Arkham, but he was a one-man army all by himself.

Fighting Clayface with fists and feet were a folly, as he could simply grab hold and suck one of the limbs into the dripping mass of his body. Most of their weapons were rendered useless as well, so they tended to strategize with several specialized weapons Bruce had created in his cave.

One such device was a small round container, much like a smoke bomb. It exploded on contact and covered a portion of Clayface’s body with ice, freezing it solid. Not only was it a great deterrent for the man-creature, it also served to piss him off like nothing else. Tim’s fingers grazed a couple of these freezing bombs in his own utility belt, even as he watched Batman meet Clayface head-on by tossing his own collection of bombs in the man’s face.

Clayface roared, rearing back where he stood. Half of his face was frozen in a rictus of surprise. Tim kept a careful distance, palming a bomb and preparing to throw it when he had a proper opening. Clayface turned on Batman first, not yet noticing Robin standing behind him. He reached out, his wide beige hand reaching for Batman even as the man dodged away. Robin took this diversion as a chance to hit Clayface’s legs.

The bomb exploded with a hiss, which was drowned out by the terrifying sound of Clayface growling. Tim hopped away quickly before the man could round on him next. Divide and conquer, that was the best way to deal with this brute.

“Fucking bastard,” he rumbled through gritted, yellow teeth. His voice was like gravel, like rocks grinding against each other, deep and unsettling. It never failed to make a shiver run down Tim’s spine.

Unfortunately, Clayface managed to snag Batman’s cape after several minutes of this back and forth. He tossed the man towards the nearest building and Tim could hear Batman grunt painfully at the collision.

It only took that moment of distraction to sneak a tendril of clay behind Tim and grab his leg. Tim couldn’t help the tiny gasp that slipped out when he was suddenly dragged off his feet. It was a little like being on a roller coaster, being pulled upside down in the air, his stomach following a second behind, except for the vice grip on his ankle yanking him around.

He was slammed unceremoniously into the pavement and there went the amusement park feeling. It took a moment for him to come back to himself, the shock of the impact stealing the thoughts from his head. It didn’t help that his unprotected head bounced off the ground either. He was only given a moment to take inventory, and he didn’t think anything had been broken, but his train of thought was interrupted by Clayface looming over him.

His mushy, sloppy face cut off the small amount of light the moon managed to shine through Gotham’s smog and Tim’s eyes widened in the shadow of the beast.

“You dumb runt,” Clayface said. “Always getting in my way. Let’s see how Batman feels when I snuff out his newest Robin.”

Before Tim could puzzle out what that meant, a cold slap of clay landed on his face. It was moving, covering his mouth, and his body bucked in panic. Tim’s legs landed against Clayface’s bulky middle, where silt ran over him, trapping him inside the man’s chest and stomach. Clayface entombed his arms in a similar manner, pinning them away from his body so that he was well and truly helpless.

He could hear Clayface’s raspy laugh overhead, wet clay running into his nose and down the back of his throat.

He couldn’t breathe.

Tim couldn’t recall a time he felt all-consuming terror wash over him like it did on that barren street. He also couldn’t hear Batman working to open a nearby fire hydrant, fear causing his heart to rush in his ears and muffling everything else.

Blood throbbed behind his eyes, washing out his vision while he struggled weakly in Clayface’s grasp. He tried to bite down, but the endless rush of clay pushed in regardless, filling his mouth and throat with a viscous matter.

Tim stopped struggling, his limbs trembling feebly as darkness enveloped him, his eyes rolling back into his head.

He was vaguely aware of a roar of noise, the ugly sound Clayface made when he was angered. Something wet lapped under him, soaking into his costume, as his restraints dropped away. Or rather, they washed away under a frigid spray of water. Apparently Batman had succeeded in breaking the side of the hydrant so that water was aimed towards Clayface with bruising force.

The difference being that the villain’s body dissolved under the onslaught rather than it merely hurting him. He wheezed, his drooping face contorted in rage as it started sliding down his torso.

Batman wasted no time in coming to Tim’s side while Clayface, once a formidable creature, was harmlessly eroded away down the sewer in great slabs of brown sludge.

Tim felt himself being turned over in an iron grip, a sense of urgency making it through the quagmire that was his muddled mind. Something thick and probing pushed into his mouth, scooping away at the inside of his cheeks. He thought that was the end of it, his mind sliding away from him, until the fingers were back, rough and insistent, pressing down at the back of his throat.

He gagged, hands fumbling uselessly at the vice grip on his ribs. He gagged again, clay pouring out of him and slapping wetly on the ground. Tears ran down his face while he retched loudly, his body purging Clayface’s remains while water swirled around his prone form.

Batman forced him to vomit one more time, the gloved fingers scraping relentlessly at the back of his abused throat. Tim moaned, feeling wretched and wrung out. Batman spared a moment to press Tim’s aching head against his chest comfortingly before he gathered the gangly teen in his arms and carried him back to the car.

_________________________

Several hours later found Tim lying on a cot in the cave. When they’d returned home, he’d spent nearly fifteen straight minutes blowing his nose into tissues provided by Alfred. He did this until clay no longer came out in globs, the smell of earth remaining in his nostrils no matter how hard he blew.

Bruce frowned his way, his lips pressed in a grim line, before he turned to his computers so that he could write up that evening’s report. A cold cup of tea sat at the bedside table behind Tim’s head, his back to the cavern. He’d taken one sip while it was still steaming and promptly threw it back up. And although he could see no traces of Clayface in the vomit, he couldn’t help but to glare helplessly into the trash bin filled with tissues and now watery puke. He’d laid down minutes later and hadn’t moved since.

Tim was busy mulling over his thoughts, thinking about how this all could have been avoided if he had been better at the Robin gig.

The tap of the keys while Bruce worked steadily though the evening soothed him mildly with its mundaneness. The adrenaline that had pumped through his body just hours ago was gone, leaving him shaky and weak. He hated the feeling. Hated the knowledge that he’d screwed up royally and it almost cost him his life. He hated that Batman had to save him once again.

He was supposed to assist Batman, not become a bumbling damsel in distress. They may have even recaptured Clayface that night if it weren’t for him, and now they’d be forced to wait until the hulking monster of a man dried out and pulled himself together.

Tim’s thoughts continued to spiral downward while he lay in silence. But he jerked in surprise when a warm hand landed on his arm.

“Dick?” he said in confusion, his voice destroyed and grating. The aforementioned man now standing behind him couldn’t help but wince when he heard how wrecked Tim sounded.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said with a small smile. Dick was in civilian clothing and Tim wondered if he’d been patrolling that night at all.

“How’re you feeling?”

The space between Tim’s eyes wrinkled.

“Did,” he cleared his throat, “did Bruce call you?”

He couldn’t imagine Dick showing his face around the manor without a small amount of pleading. Or whatever the equivalent was between the two hard-headed men.

“He said you had a rough night,” Dick admitted, rubbing his hand up and down Tim’s arm. It helped to chase away a little of the chill that had settled into Tim’s prone form and he couldn’t help but lean into it like a flower following the sun.

Tim snorted in response, rolling his eyes at how carefully it was worded.

“D’you wanna talk about it?” the older man offered. Despite the darkness of the cave, Tim could still see the concern in Dick’s gaze. He had a hard time shuttering his emotions, even when he wanted to. He was the complete opposite of Tim, who could shed the sentiment from his face in the blink of an eye. Dick had teased him more than once that holding in his emotions had stunted his growth and that was why he was the smallest Robin.

Tim had only looked at Bruce in reply, the most emotionally dysfunctional of the bats next to Jason. He towered over most of them, even out of the cowl, and Dick’s laughter rang out when he caught the glance.

Tim’s gaze slid to Bruce now, only seeing him hunched over his keyboard. He hadn’t even noticed him contacting Dick. He must have been worried about him to invite the other man into his home despite their tenuous relationship. It warmed Tim’s heart to know it.

“No, I… not right now, no,” he said. Dick only nodded. He wouldn’t push Tim to talk if Tim said he wasn’t ready.

“Why don’t we go upstairs, get out of this dingy cave.”

Tim found himself bundled against Dick’s side and shuffled up onto the main floor. He paused, looking up the set of stairs leading up to the bedrooms, and he heaved a sigh, preparing himself to trudge his way up. Dick easily read the exhaustion on his face, felt the stiffening of Tim’s body as he steeled himself to make the journey, so he scooped Tim into his arms without a moment’s hesitation.

Normally Tim would have squawked indignantly, squirming from the older man’s grip, but it wasn’t in him. Instead, he dropped his head to the solid bone of Dick’s shoulder and allowed himself to be carried for the second time that night.

They strode past Tim’s room and straight into Dick’s. Dick didn’t use it very often anymore, but Tim was intimately familiar with its setup. When he felt alone or couldn’t sleep, he sometimes went inside and lay on the bed. The room had since lost the scent of its previous inhabitant, and Alfred often times dusted and kept the sheets properly rotated, but Tim still felt his predecessor’s presence. The room still held some of his childhood belongings, not to mention his clothing for when he dropped by and stayed the night. Oftentimes when Tim was benched with an injury, or he was down with an illness, he sneaked a hoodie or two from the closet and wrapped himself in it.

It was more comforting than he’d ever admit, even under pain of torture.

He and Dick hadn’t spent much time getting to know one another when Tim first inserted himself into Bruce’s life, the entire year and a half following Jason’s death feeling like a bruise that wouldn’t stop getting jostled and prodded. But the former Robin eventually warmed to him, easily using cutesy pet names on him and cuddling with him whenever the teen was within arm’s reach.

Given Tim’s standoffish personality, one would think that he would shy away from the overbearing affection. On the contrary, he thrived on Dick’s attention like a shriveled flower being introduced to water. Of course, he blushed and shoved him out of his space, and snapped wry insults Dick’s way when the attention because cloying, but at the end of the day, they were brothers.

Dick placed Tim on the bed with care, a hand cupping the back of his head gently. A warm curl of embarrassment bloomed in Tim’s stomach, but he said nothing, soaking up the attentiveness while it was freely given.

“Hey,” Dick said, his voice low. He leaned over the bed, head tilted as he regarded the younger man, a small smile on his lips.

“You wanna shower real quick? Get the patrol funk off you?”

Tim nodded in lieu of breaking the comfortable quietness of the room with his ruined voice. Dick gripped his hand and anchored him off the bed, gently aiming him in the direction of his own bathroom. Tim toddled away, looking smaller than Dick seemed to remember. By the time he shut off the water, Dick had left a pair of his own soft pajama pants and a worn T-Shirt folded on the toilet lid.

Resolutely avoiding his gaze in the bathroom mirror, he set about reaching for the toothbrush Dick had left on the back of the sink. There was a mostly crumpled tube of toothpaste left behind also, and he managed to squeeze out an agreeable amount before setting about scrubbing away at his teeth. He could still feel the grit of sand between his molars and he needed it gone or he wouldn’t even begin to find peace that night.

He wasn’t even halfway through brushing when he gagged at the sensation of something in his mouth. Tim frowned down at the toothbrush, blue foam coating his lips. He considered his options before slowly running the offending brush under the tap then rinsing out his mouth. He repeated the latter until he could comfortably admit to himself that his mouth was clean.

When Tim eventually left the steamy warmth of the bathroom, it was to find Dick stretched out on his bed. He was fiddling with his phone but looked up when he felt Tim’s presence in the room.

“C’mere,” he patted the space next to him. His smile was easy and made him look approachable, so Tim approached.

“It’s time for little Timmies to go to sleep,” he curled an arm around Tim’s shoulders once he’d slipped under the covers beside his brother.

“I guess,” Tim whispered, yawning immediately after. He was exhausted in every way imaginable and was desperate to turn his brain off. Tim rolled to face the other man, pressing his face to the side of his neck. Dick’s grip only grew tighter, pulling Tim against his body. He used his free hand to trace Tim’s exposed cheekbone and made a small hum sound.

It didn’t take long for Tim to drift off.

_________________________

“Tim.”

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, his hands and legs frozen at his sides. He wheezed, the tiniest sliver of air easing past his lips.

It wasn’t enough.

He was going to die.

Suffocate and die.

“Tim!”

He was being shaken, his shoulder in a tight grip. When he opened his eyes he was swimming in darkness, light-headed. He sucked in a tagged breath, chest heaving and an ugly gasping sound meeting his ears.

That was him, he realized. He was making that gulping, hitching sound.

“Tim, it was a nightmare, that’s all it was,” a voice soothed next to him. Dick loosened his grip, his hand sliding up and down Tim’s arm comfortingly again. He could feel Dick’s steady breath against his neck, and he clamped down on his panic, determined to match the other man’s calm breaths. His own was still harsh and loud in the otherwise quiet room. His stomach churned, nearly convincing him that he needed to purge again, to get everything out.

Dick moved to stroke Tim’s hair back from his face, over and over again in a reassuring, repetitive motion.

Eventually Tim’s heart rate slowed into a more restful thrumming, his stomach settling.

“Aw, my poor Timmy,” Dick crooned, wiping the tears from Tim’s numb cheeks with light, tender swipes of his thumbs. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying.

“You’ll be all right,” he continued. Even though it sounded to Tim’s ears like he was trying to calm a child, he sensed no mockery in his voice. No condescension. It was nice, actually, and Tim found himself relaxing in his hold.

“Sorry,” he croaked. “F-for waking you up.”

“Nonsense,” he smoothed his thumb over Tim’s forehead, tracing the worry line that was well on its way into becoming a permanent wrinkle.

“You feel like talking?”

Dick felt Tim’s head shake in rejection as the teen curled back into his body. So Dick pressed a kiss to the top of his head and folded him into his arms.

“Tomorrow,” Tim mumbled against his throat after several beats of silence. He was already sinking into the warmth of the other man’s hold, his thoughts slowing down sleepily.

“Tomorrow then, baby bird.”

“Dick? "

“Yeah?”

“... You’re a really good brother.”

Dick smiled into the crown of Tim’s head.

“Love you too, kiddo.”

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea especially from watching Inque try to choke out Terry from Batman Beyond :o
> 
> Tim’s maybe 15 here. Hand-wavy with the timeline. He’s been Robin for a couple years maybe.


End file.
